The Days of Caesar
by CarpalTunnelLove
Summary: Katherine Burnes, AKA Caesar, is the newest addition to Arkham Asylum. After setting half of Gotham on fire, you'd think she'd be taller. Not a Mary-Sue romance. Rated T for mild language  may change .
1. Day 1

Greetings! I'll try to keep intros to a minimum after this, but here goes: this is the story (from day one) of the life of my OC, Caesar, in Arkham. Some will be long, some short, but I hope ya'll have fun reading them. No slash, I think, but maybe FemSlash in the future. You never know. Also, imagine Professor Crane as voiced by Jeffery Combs, drawn by AdAbsurdum on DeviantArt, but with darker hair and freckles (teehee), with Cillian Murphy's eyes. The Riddler is basically a combo of the _Batman: The Animated Series_ Riddler and the "Hush" Riddler. Have fun. BTW, it's my 16th birthday tomorrow and you know what I'd like? Lots of reviews. Do it for the birthday girl.

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><p>The sun beat wearily down through the clouds to the small, fenced-in Yard of Arkham Asylum. Inmates on good behavior were released bi-monthly into the dismal stretches of hard dirt for "fresh air." Technically, it was two Yards, one side female, the other male; this layout formed a channel between, through which arriving inmates were carried, dragged, or simply walked, down to the double doors into the Asylum itself.<p>

Professor Jonathan Crane now stood in one of these dismal courtyards (the right-hand one, if one judged while facing the doors).

"Hey Crane," a voice called from the fence, "Get a look at the new girl!"

Jonathan sighed, but admittedly had nothing better to do. Keeping up "good behavior" for this long was a true struggle for which he had sacrificed hours of potential entertainment. The tall man made his way to where the Riddler was standing, looking through the Yard's chain-link fence at this so-called 'new girl.' He immediately noted a powerful scent of wood smoke and Tiger Balm.

She was just that—a girl; no more than seventeen, at a stretch. She was only about five-foot-two but, Jonathan noticed, seemed to radiate largeness in her bearing. She had a handsome, square-jawed face beneath a long wild tangle of brown hair. Horn-rimmed glasses partially obscured wicked green eyes. While not quite pretty, she was admittedly a long way from being truly plain.

"Are you Professor Crane?" she asked in a mellow voice a bit deeper than the average teen girl.

"Yes, child," he replied.

"I attended one of your public lectures at Gotham U. Your theories on fear were intriguing. It's a pleasure to meet you." She nodded respectfully at him through the chain fence, then scowled as two more guards approached.

"_Demum, veniunt porci,_" she muttered. _At last, here come the pigs._ Jonathan smirked. Latin.

The pigs in question scowled stupidly at her, roughly grabbing each lean arm.

"This way little girl," one growled. She looked for a moment as though she would spit in his face.

"_Vescere bracis meis_," she snarled. Nygma snickered. _Eat my shorts._ This wit was lost on the Philistines half-dragging her to the heavy double doors at the other end of the yard.

"_Quid est teum nōmen?_" Jonathan called. He already somehow liked her; she had called him _Professor Crane, _not Scarecrow.

She grinned wolfishly over her shoulder at him.

"Katherine Burnes, Professor, but you can call me Caesar!"


	2. Day 2

Professor Crane watched the new girl—what was her name? _Katherine_— enter the Rec Room with a distinctly nervous air. She stepped carefully, as though she thought standing on the wrong patch of stained carpet would bring the wrath of some unspeakable lunatic upon her. But her caution did not seem to stray into true fear. Why? Why was such a young, short, and (by all appearances) vulnerable girl not frightened by the madmen surrounding her? Had she perhaps encountered her share of madmen in the past? Or did she have some hidden method of defense?

Jonathan was so wrapped up in contemplation that he failed to notice that she was approaching him.

"Can—" She stopped herself. "_May_ I sit here?" He raised an eyebrow and did not speak just yet, but nodded affirmatively. She muttered a quick thanks and made to sit next to him.

"Why do you feel the need to ask?" She paused midway through pulling out the Arkham issue rickety plastic chair.

"I wasn't sure if you wanted to be left alone. I thought it was only…What's the word?" She sat and appeared to think of it.

"Prudent! I thought it was only prudent to ask." Jonathan allowed himself a small smile.

"I appreciate the gesture." Closer, he noticed her rather pronounced cleft chin.

"What brings you here, Katherine?" She seemed delighted that he had remembered her name, though her moniker escaped him.

"Arson. Some kidnapping, but mostly arson. I set half of Gotham ablaze before the Goddamn Batman showed up. I set a particularly nasty grease fire, but he caught up and I was nicked."

Jonathan nodded.

"Caesar, was it?"

"Oh, yeah, that's me. Caesar. I've gone by it for years, but it just seemed to fit so nicely with something so poetic as fire."

"Poetic?"

"It's classic, like my favorite Shakespere: '_The Tragedy of Julius Caesar.' _That's why I got the name. I used to quote it all the time and my teachers eventually began calling me Caesar."

"I see. There are worse nicknames to have." _Scarecrow._ "Tell me more about fire. What attracted you to arson?" It was refreshing to be able to discuss the motives of an arsonist for once. None of those he'd come across had been nearly as lucid as this girl.

Her eyes took on a certain gleam, like when Harley Quinn talked about the Joker. Not just an arsonist, then. A true pyromaniac.

"Fire is elemental; it's…alive. But it doesn't judge, isn't prejudiced. It doesn't care what it feeds on or who or where. It consumes everything in its path and at the same time readies the soil for new life. The pages of history are forged in flame; the great fire of Rome in 64 BC that set Nero on the path to downfall, the Great London Fire in 1666 that opened the way for reconstruction, the Great Chicago Fire of 1871 that led to wide reform in fire standards, even the Great Fire of Gotham itself some many years ago. _Incendia est eternus_, Professor Crane. It's necessary."

She chuckled humorlessly.

"And if it just so happens to aid my own causes, I consider it just an added bonus."

She fell into contemplation for a moment, her green eyes distant. Jonathan considered her words.

'_Incendia est eternus.' Fire is eternal._


	3. Day 3

One tiny thing: I didn't think up these riddles. Sorry. But most of the ones I used are from memory.

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><p>The Rec Room could be so dull when Jonathan had run out of books. Minutes dragged by in isolation and the Professor, oddly enough, found himself watching the door. It took him a moment to realize why. The answer surprised him slightly. He was waiting for Caesar. He found he rather enjoyed her company. She was well read, insightful to a degree, and eager to listen to his theories. To his continued surprise, he felt almost <em>happy<em> when her short, lean frame appeared in the doorway.

She began to make her way to the far corner where he sat, as usual, but stopped, flinching, a short distance away when a loud voice called across the room.

"_Hey Nygma, what's an eleven-letter word for fear or anxiety?"_

Caesar and Nygma spoke simultaneously.

"_Trepidation."_

Silence fell immediately and Jonathan stifled an odd urge to laugh as their heads turned, both sets of green eyes locking. The Riddler rose from his nearby seat and approached her slowly. She drew herself up to her full (though almost negligible) height, seeming to brace herself for a fight. Rather brave, Jonathan thought, as Nygma was about a foot taller than she.

And then it began.

"_'How is an island like the letter T?' _"

She didn't even blink, only thought for a tiny moment.

"They're both in the middle of 'water;' '_Tear one off and scratch my head; what once was red is black instead.' "_

"A match."

It was like watching table tennis—except that it was actually entertaining, while table tennis rarely failed to be dull.

" _'The man who makes it sells it, the man who buys it doesn't use it, the man who uses it doesn't know it; what is it?'_ "

"A coffin; I like that one. _'If you have it, you want to share it, but if you share it, you don't have it.'_ "

They were picking up speed now, and everyone was watching, eyes darting between the dueling villains.

"A secret. _'If you know me then I am nothing, but if you don't then I am something.' _"

"A Riddle. '_Give me food, and I will live; give me water, and I will die.'_ "

"A fire. I see you fancy the flame. '_What is it that everyone does at the same time?' "_

"Grow old. _'A certain crime is punishable if attempted but not punishable if committed.'_ "

"Suicide. '_You use a knife to slice my head, yet weep beside me when I am dead.' "_

"An onion. '_From the beginning of eternity to the end of time and space to the beginning of every end and the end of every place.'_ "

"Why, the letter 'E' of course! It is said among my people that some things are improved by death. Tell me, what stinks while living but in death smells good?"

"A cow. Or a pig. Pretty much any food animal."

"Including babies!" interjected the Joker. She ignored him and continued.

"But you tell _me;_ I give you a group of three. One is sitting down and will never get up. The second eats as much as is given to him, yet is always hungry. The third goes away and never returns. What are they?"

Nygma's eyes were alight with something Jonathan could not name; a manic light reflected in Caesar's eyes. It was rather like the light that emerged when she talked about fire.

"A stove, fire, and smoke. But riddle me this; How is a raven like a writing desk?"

That one had several answers. Nygma could choose to accept any of them. _And so it ends,_ thought Jonathan, _You can't possibly choose correctly_. But then;

"Because neither one can whistle."

Nygma blinked, staring in disbelief. Then his thin face split into a grin. He extended his hand.

"Edward Nygma. The Riddler."

"Well met. Katherine Burnes. Call me Caesar."


	4. Day 4

I know this one's like, a sentence long, but bear with me.

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><p>Harley woke up with a start and was <em>this fucking close<em> to ripping someone's eyeballs out when she looked across at the source of the noise that had woken her. Her anger immediately vanished.

Caesar was squirming, tossing her head restlessly, obviously still asleep. The shaft of moonlight that seeped through the high, barred window fell across her face. Harley's heart broke a little bit at her expression.

It was clear, unfiltered anguish. Pure grief etched deep lines into her young face. Harley slipped noiselessly off her own bunk to kneel beside her. She was mumbling in her sleep; Harley strained to hear—even though she wasn't sure she wanted to.

"_Daphne_," Caesar moaned, and the sound tugged at Harley's heart. "_Daphne, I'm so sorry…Actus non facit reum nisi mens est rea. Please forgive me…"_ She began to thrash harder, plead louder.

"_Please, I love you, Daphne, I'm so sorry!" _Harley couldn't take watching her anymore, poor baby. She reached out and gently shook the girl awake. Caesar jolted upright, staring incredulously into Harley's face—barely lit in the moonlight—as though looking into the face of God. Then she seemed to recognize her and the look was gone.

"Your hair. It's just like hers was."

"I'm sorry, hon." Harley hesitated but curiosity got the better of her. She touched Caesar's shoulder; so what if some part of her was still a shrink?

"Who is she?"

Caesar's haunted green eyes gazed up at her, overbright and watery.

"She was the love of my life."


	5. Day 5

Just a small one today-first day of junior year!

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><p>Caesar played Battleship. And rather well, Jonathan had to admit. Although playing with the Riddler beside you was cheating (and Jonathan had seen them naming all their ships previously). But their opponent wasn't complaining; a very large, muscular schizophrenic with the numbers "420" tattooed on the back of his neck.<p>

"B-14."

"Hit. Got any naked pictures of your mom?"

"No..."

"Wanna see some? C-5."

"Hit. Bitch. B-12."

"Hit. You miserable bastard. _Id imperfectum manet dum confectum erit_. C-3."

"Miss."

Although they centered largely around the words "hit" and "miss", Jonathan found their conversations made oddly pleasant listening.

"Hit, I dare you. _Fabriacate diem._"

"B-13."

There was a pause in which Katherine and Edward stared at the indicated spot with identical looks of shock.

"You…"

"…Sunk my battleship…"

Oh joy of joys, they were beginning to finish each other's sentences. _You damn fool,_ Jonathan thought as their opponent smirked.

And before Jonathan could blink, the table flipped, pegs flew, as both villains flung themselves at their bewildered opponent.

_So that's why they play as a team,_ Jonathan thought with some degree of amusement. True, Caesar was short and Riddler was scrawny, and the other man was a solid wall of muscle, but together they became a cyclone of indignation, dealt blows that rivaled the Batman's.

Over the increasing tumult, Jonathan could hear them yelling.

"Oh my god!"

"You killed Kenny!"

"You_ bastard!_"


	6. Day 6

To all Baptists, I apologize in advance. These are Caesar's words. Not mine.

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><p>THERAPY SESSION 1, PATIENT #8895<p>

_A sigh._

"Hello, Katherine. I'm doctor Walken—may I call you Katherine?"

"Yes."

"Alright, Katherine." _Shuffling papers._ "I'm going to be your doctor for the duration of your…Stay, here at Arkham. Now, if you feel comfortable, can you tell me about yourself?"

_Derisive snort. _"Do I look _comfortable _to you, Doc? Are the chains necessary?"

"It's protocol for more violent…Patients."

_Chuckle._ "You almost said 'inmates,' didn't you?"

"Please answer my question, Katherine."

"Didn't they give you a file on me?"

"I'd prefer to hear it from you."

"Of course you do…Alright. What do you want to know?"

"Start with where you grew up. Your childhood."

_Clinking of chains. _

"I grew up a few blocks outside Crime Alley. We couldn't afford to live anywhere else. Dad's clinically depressed, see? Can't hold down a job."

"And your mother?"

"Dead."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I barely knew her."

"You must still miss her, though, right?"

"Maybe."

…

"Please continue."

"Well, I learned to take care of myself, since dad's in no fit state to even care for himself. And I did pretty well for awhile, 'till I got sick."

"Sick?"

_Laughter. _"Damn, didn't they tell you _anything?_ Pneumonia. I nearly died. Malnourished, they said._"_

"How long ago was this?"

"Oh, must be two, three years now, I guess. Anyway, it proved I wasn't being cared for. Child services wanted to take me, but I had an idea. So I filed for emancipation. And I won."

"That must have made you happy."

"Very. I was free. It wasn't easy, but I managed to get my own place, near the school."

"And thanks to the Thomas Wayne Foundation, the city paid for your tuition."

"Exactly."

"How was your school life?"

_Sigh. _"Uneventful."

"I have a hard time believing that."

"Hey, man, what can I say? I kept to myself, mostly, but people liked me enough to leave me be."

"Why was that?"

" 'Cause I'm _funny_."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, _est Certa._"

"Tell me a joke."

_Snort. _"Are you serious?"

_Small chuckle. _"Dead serious."

"…"

"Okay, fine: So Saint Peter's at the Pearly Gates, showin' in new souls. 'Cause there's different Heavens, you know? Anyway, his little… tour group, I guess, comes to one, and it's all nice, there's clouds and harps and shit. And he says, 'Now all you Protestants, this is you.' So all the dead Protestants go in, and they move on.

Come to another, it's a little rock garden, there's people meditating and such, and Saint Peter says, 'This here's where you Buddhists go. Have fun.' And so all the Buddhists go in and the rest of 'em move on.

Now, here, Saint Peter starts whispering: 'Now everybody be very quiet; this one's for the Baptists, and they think they're the only ones up here.' "


	7. Day 7

Hello there! This is kind of a filler chapter but an excuse to use one of my favorite totally underrated characters: Aaron Cash! Also, misspellings in Caesar's speech are deliberate. She's...Well, this particular condition she's in is best portrayed with phonetic spelling. PLZ REVIEW

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><p>"Ow, son uf a <em>bitch!" <em>Caesar growled, cradling her broken nose while Cash half-dragged her back down the hall.

"We goin' da medical?" she asked thickly. Aaron snorted.

"A little thing like a broken nose ain't enough to go to Medical, not with all the other shit goin' down." Caesar nodded gingerly.

"Yah, you're right." Aaron looked at her.

"Did you really tell Doctor Walken a Baptist joke?" She snorted, then gave a truncated whimper.

"…yah."

"You do know he's—"

"A Babtist? Yah."

"You got somethin' against it?" Caesar snorted again and made the same pained noise, this time accompanied by a muffled "_Fuck, I don't learn do I?" _

"I got nuthin wrong with id. Buh he's a asshole. An I got somethin against assholes.

Aaron inwardly smiled.

"You remind me of my niece." Caesar made a noise that she tried to pass off as a sigh but had clearly started as another derisive snort.

"Is thad so, Cabtain Hook? She burn shit up too?"

"You'd think so, way she burn through my sister's credit cards."

"My symbathies."

They passed by an oddly quiet cell, the waist-high reinforced glass pane on the door providing a clear view inside. Both Aaron and Caesar stopped for a moment to look in.

"Wud's his thing? Looks preddy normal da me." Aaron looked at his watch. Almost four thirty, on the dot, so any second now…

"Sweet merciful—_eew_! For Jove's sake, that's nod fucking _right!"_


End file.
